


I Feel the Dark

by frostedcookiepopurri, Sugarlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Demon-like, Demonic Possession, Flesh Devouring, M/M, Murder, Suspense, Torture, Tragedy, Vampire-ish, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedcookiepopurri/pseuds/frostedcookiepopurri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarlock/pseuds/Sugarlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>((THIS FANFIC IS DEAD))<br/>All sanctuary is eaten up by the low vibrations of the bug that creeps in the shadows. People are disappearing and dying. There is no escaping the Darkness. The Sire is rising, and his ultimate goal is inevitable. Turn, or die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Feel the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This fucking thing is terrible  
> Wtf even is this shit

 

_**Oh well the devil makes us sin. But we like it when we're spinning, in his grin.** _

* * *

 

Just a couple minutes past midnight. It will be forever until the sun appears.

A sky thick with blankets of gray clouds hover over London. The air is cool as a light breeze come through. Winds whistle through the spaces between tombs and brittle trees of an empty cemetery. A sheet of snow concealed the browning grass beneath, and little snowflakes drifted to the ground.

Soft crunching of tiny footsteps sounded in the night, becoming hard taps as they met with cement. They clumsily slip over themselves, and they finally stop. A small girl noticed a castle-like tomb with two stone angels towering atop columns guarding the tarnished entrance. Everything about the structure was corroded from long periods of rain. She scampered up the small set of steps, sat herself on the top stair, and huddled against the door.

A fluffy pompom ball that complimented her brown knitted beanie was torn off from a branch she passed underneath. Fortunately, she seized it in time before the wind could take it. She held it close against her chest.

Crunching her legs up against her little torso, she wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her face in her arms.

This little girl was lost. Frightened and confused out of her mind, she didn’t know where she was, or how far she had gone.

How far she had ran away... from home.

No, that place was not home. Home was when mummy was healthy, before daddy became sad. Home was when they had family dinners and went out together. Home was when mummy and daddy were still alive. She remebered when her mummy fell ill. All she did was cough and heave, keeling over where she stood. She would see blood in her hands. When she was later layed to rest in that big wooden casket, she looked like a beautiful maiden sleeping soundly in her bed. She remembered daddy's tears, his eyes puffy and bloodshot from hours of crying until morning. He couldn't take it for long, and she walked in on him hanging from his bedroom ceiling. She was sent to an orphanage soon after. She hated it, though. Hated the careless children, the adults who acted like her parents, the itchy beds, the sloppy food.

So she ran away. She didn't know where she was running to. She just wanted to go away.

She recalled her mother kissing her hair, and holding her close during cold winters like this. How she wore pretty sundresses in the summer, and how she always used to put up her hair while working around the home with her big, strong dad. She recalled how normal she and he was, how clean and tidy they were. The scent of their lavender air freshener still lingered in the little girl’s nose. If only they were here now. They would cuddle her and tell her everything will be all right, and hide her away from the bitter cold.

A snowflake kissed the tip of her nose, and melted as quickly as it did touch her. She shuddered, and goose bumps appeared on her skin.

Her mummy and daddy were gone forever. But deep inside she felt… _knew…_  they were still with her. She lifted her head up at the angel, and it curiously gazed back with stone eyes.

The girl scooted herself closer to it, and shifted her feet as much as she could away from the edge, further in the shadow of the angel.

Moments pass, and she said a prayer.

She prayed that her mummy and daddy were happy and safe in heaven, and that God was watching over them, and that they were watching over her. She prayed to see them again soon. She told Him that she missed them too much, and she would give anything to see them one more time.

Her eyelids started to drift closed from lack of sleep. Her body fell limp against the door, hands dropping from her knees. She was barely an inch away from unconsciousness.

Even though the moon was hidden behind the clouds, the dark seemed darker. She was never afraid of the dark like other kids, but something was pulling at her, like something was very strange.

She assumed it was her sleeplessness. She inhaled, embracing the feeling. She should fall asleep now so she could have enough energy to run farther tomorrow.

Suddenly, the shadows around her felt warm. Too warm and too dark. Her jacket felt awfully uncomfortable, an odd sense of claustrophobia setting in.

Her head twisted and turned in every direction, but she was too paralyzed to move even her finger.

_See them... one more time..._

Invisible hands clutched her shoulders, and she fell backwards through the closed door, into the shadows.

There was not a scream, not a shout for help. There was no sound but the winter wind.

All that was left were droplets of blood, and her pompom.

* * *

 

Stepping out the taxi and slamming the door behind him, he struggled to process what he saw in his bedroom.

Her arms enveloped around another man’s waist. Her lips on his…

And that that man was in fact his brother.

It was a nightmare come true.

He told her he was coming back the week before. All he wanted was her, and she’s all he ever thought of. He never meant to leave to Iraq for such an extensive time. He never expected to be.

During his absence, she called him and he called her. _I miss yous_ and _I love yous_ were always repeated through the phone, e-mails, webcam whenever they got the chance. He promised her… _promised her he would come back_.

His face sopping wet with tears, he stomped down an empty sidewalk in the midst of the city. He lifted the collar of his jacket to block the bitter wind from biting his neck. He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets.

Some weeks previously, communication began to lag, and the longing for one another seemed to fade. She grew distant and held back from informing him of recent news. He continued to say he loved her and missed her, but all she would reply was _I know._

He should have seen this coming. He will never speak to his brother or her again. Apologies will never sew this up.

He turned off his cell phone, and hid it in his back pocket. He had no intentions on calling anyone tonight, or answering any calls. In his mind, he didn’t have friends or family. All that disappeared, along with his heart.

He already had trust issues with people from a life consumed by cynicism. From his mother never buying him anything for Christmas, to his own cousin and his friends killing his dog with wooden bats, his life had been a living hell. He has been a target for anything damaging. And as though by fate, tonight he has lost whatever hope that he was gripping to.

He swiped the sleeve of his jacket across his face, leaving it damp from tears and snot. He had almost missed the park just across the road, and decided to turn that direction... maybe even stay there for the night if no one bothers him. Jogging, he met the ground of the gated park fairly quickly. He slowed his pace and focused on the crunching of the thin snowy grass beneath his shoes. It somewhat aided him from his current state of mind. He followed the paved path towards a small lake that rested beyond the trees. He crouched beneath one tree that was closest to the lake, hiding him from anyone that could probably be near. He scanned the park to see if there really was anyone around.

It is awfully quiet and there is absolutely no one around, besides an old homeless man sitting beside a building outside the gate who looked to be sleeping.

He checked his wristwatch. A smidgen pass midnight. No wonder.

The broken man focused on the falling snow and the gentle currents in the lake, like a kind of meditation.

Two fish popped their heads out the water, making the water ripple. The tiny splashes made plopping noises, like a pebble hitting the water’s surface. It was pretty, and made the broken man’s cracked lips turn up.

He rose from his spot against the tree, and strode to a large flat rock near the edge of the lake. He stood there, wind whipping his black hair and stinging his sun-kissed skin. He began to chew his lip.

He hated his lip-biting habit. He gained it out of stress. It made his lips chapped and dry, splitting the skin and making it bleed occasionally. It hurt really bad, but he just could not stop.

He bit down down too hard on his bottom lip then, and he tore off a scab.

Sucking in air through his teeth, he swore. He sucked on his lip, attempting to soothe the pain.

His bottom lip throbbed. He placed his fingers over it, and gently applied pressure as though to test how seriously he injured it, tasting a bit of blood.

He leaned in closer to the water, seeing his bleary reflection, and pressed.

A small drop broadened and gradually seeped off his lip, dripping into the lake. Plop, like the fish.

The drop swelled into a pattern like that of a spider web, and faded into the dark water. The man leaned closer to the surface to examine it, focusing his weight on his foot near the rock's edge.

Without warning, he felt ghostly hands clutch around his ankles. They sharply jerk downward.

The water consumed his body before his mind could ever pick up what had happened.

He was suspended beneath the surface, still. The only feeling he had was a pounding at the back of his head.

Lifting his hand dawdlingly, he touched the back of his head. A gash.

The rocks at the edge must have nicked his scalp.

The hopeless man was growing dizzy. There was an uncanny darkness that swiveled beneath his feet. It began to accumulate, swishing around him ethereally, but his eyes were too blurred from the water and budding concussion.

He began to flail his arms and legs in panic, but the water somehow kept him from returning to the cold night air. It also began to enter his nose and mouth, and slip into his lungs.

The black wisps that surrounded him thickened, and a pallid, distorted figure appeared before him as though materializing from the blackness.

He could not see its face or any other detail of its naked body, but its form came forward.

He felt its fingers creep up his arms, and his vision became stronger, only for a second.

And in that second, he saw its eyes.

Black, empty, a demon's cold stare…

His breath hitched, and water flooded his lungs.

The surface of the water was thick, bluish-green, dismal and calm. Off the edge where the rocks lie, a small blotch of black grew and grew, until it was a great blossom of red clouds.

* * *

 

The crowd marveled at the scene before them. A woman with skin the pigment of caramel, curly chocolate hair framing her face, twisted and twirled on the silver pole that stuck through the center of the purple-lit stage. Every movement was in sequence with the melody booming out the surround-sound speakers. She proved the complexity of pole-dancing.

The room was dimly lit, and like the stage, a shade of purple. The walls were just as purple, as were the floors, which were decorated with a regal black floral pattern. On every wall was a framed photograph of a beautiful woman garbed in lingerie. In every seat was a man or woman gazing at the dancers on either side of the room, or lounging in the bar areas.

Dancing at the opposite side was a blonde whose skin was porcelain and flawless. Eyes made up of blue diamonds, she as well coiled and bent about. The darker-skinned woman outdid her skills, but she paid no mind. Each night they performed, they would perform simultaneously. They would always smile at each other, chuckling at themselves during a show. They would always point out the most attractive men in the room questioning whether or not they were single. They would never leave each other side.

Both protected and cherished one another. They couldn’t imagine themselves not existing in the other’s life.

The beat dropped, and both broke out into a series of riveting moves. The audience gawked in awe at them. Once it was over, all applauded and shouted and whistled.

The darker woman's silver stilettos met the floor with a click. Flipping her curls out her face her eye locked with the blackest, most mysterious pair of eyes in the entire room. Clean black suit with a white collared shirt complimented with a sleek black tie, his flair screamed luxury. He sat with his legs crossed, leaning back into the seat with his arms on each armrest, just before her stage.

Catching her amber eyes, he half-smirked.

Her face warmed, and she smirked back.

Through that one glance, something about the man made her stomach fill with butterflies, her heart flutter.

Her friend across the room observed them. She signaled to gain the other’s attention, and once she was nearly off the stage, the other looked back.

The blonde jutted her chin at the man in black, a grin widening on her cherry red lips. Her friend beamed her pearly whites and winked, almost mischievously. This was going to make her night.

She’s seen enough tears and heard too many sad stories to endure another night of her best friend reminiscing in her past.

The caramel girl strutted into the room from backstage, and immersed herself in the ambiance.

The scents of wine and cologne and perfume wafted in the air. Purple was her favorite color, and was also one of the reasons why she loved working here. Fun and leisure defined this place. Her element felt alive and breathing. Pulsing, reverberating within and without her.

She circled the room, passing conversing people, carefully enough to take in a three-sixty view of the shadowy man without him fully noticing. He took a sip from his glass of what seemed to be red wine. When he sat the glass back on the table, it didn't look any emptier. She assumed he took enough in to soak his tongue.

Sexy.

The woman took her sweet time to sneak up on him from behind. As she did, he combed his fingers through his jet black hair. She studied it.

His hands were pallid, blue veins faintly visible beneath his skin. His veins would spider until they reached his fingers, which were long and slender. His nails looked practically manicured.

Even sexier.

She even noticed how soft and manageable his hair seemed. When he took his hand out of his hair, it fell perfectly back in place. And the fact his head was slightly tilted to the side, the dim light of the room made his dark stubble contrast perfectly with his skin tone.

This was the sexiest man she ever saw in her life.

Finally behind his chair, she gingerly touched his shoulder and said, “Hello, love.”

The fine man turned and tilted his head up at her, revealing a heartfelt smile, “Hello.”

His voice. Oh, his _voice_.

"And how are you this evening? Enjoying the show?” She asked, lifting a brow.

"Ah, yes! Wonderful. Your performance was brilliant." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then continued, “Would you like to sit with me?”

Her cheeks flushed. She responded breathlessly, “Don’t mind if I do.”

Her friend was happily chatting with a couple at the bar. She bid them a wonderful night, and left them to their privacy. Walking down the small set of stairs to the main floor, she spotted her friend sitting with the suited man, both smiling and laughing.

He seemed to have reeled her in. This made her happy.

She went on with her business, pacing the room until the next show.

Meanwhile at the table, the two chattered until she just couldn’t hold it anymore, “Would you like a _dance_?”

His face froze for a fraction of a moment, before melting back into that soft smile. He responded, “For how much?”

Her mouth turned up in a toothy grin. “Love, I’m givin’ you one _for free._ ”

She offered her hand, and he took it. She led him to the private rooms.

* * *

 

He sat on the the plush sofa, seemingly apprehensive. She placed her palm flat on his chest and tenderly pushed him further into the cusion, cooing, “Relax. I don’t bite.” Leaning her face closer to his, so close her lips were almost brushing the round of his ear, she added, “Hard.”

The music played.

Like her dance on stage, her dance with him was just as graceful. It was difficult for him to keep his hands tucked beneath his thighs.

The curvature of her body flattered her movements. It was as though she didn’t have to try. It was as though it all naturally came to her. She was a marvelous human being beyond compare.

The song ended, applauses echoing from the main room.

She hadn’t realized how close she had gotten to the man—on his thighs… just inches away from his mouth… her hands on his shoulders—until the cheering faded.

His eyelids were partly closed, lazily hanging over his eyes, obscuring the swirls of dark that were his irises. His lips parted. His breath was like a summer flame.

Her hands glided up his neck and his face. They kissed.

It was like a jolt of pure electricity. Tender pecks gradually grew into full-mouthed bites, and hands roving each other’s body.

Thrusting back into reality, she pulled herself away from him to see that he was breathing heavily with lust.

“Come to my flat.”

It was more of a command than a suggestion. The man’s eyebrows arched, flattered, and he nodded. The couple snuck out the back of the building, chuckling madly. She signaled for a taxi.

She knew she was going to be in a large bout of trouble for this tomorrow night.

* * *

 

They bulleted down the third floor's barren hallway to the direction of her flat. Her hand was clamped in his, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke little things.

Halting at the farthest door, she took out the key from her purse and unlocked it. Her home was livable and comfortable, the heater on low and the windows shut tight. Her bedroom door was open, revealing a vanilla colored queen size bed, the sheets and pillows a little rustled up and unmade from her last nap.

Without warning, the man’s hands grappled her waist as he spun her towards him, and pulled her into a biting kiss. Her knees buckled beneath her, but she caught herself, along with his arm, and hastily hauled him into the bedroom.

The room grew hotter with every touch, her back to the sheets, her legs straddled, and coat and purse thrown to the floor. The man took in every inch of her with his lips and tongue, leisurely dragging off her blue thong, tasting the warmth between her thighs. Her spine arched and she moaned.

Her neighbors were thankfully off on the town, the rooms at the far end of the hall vacant.

As he worked himself out of his pants, she began to noticed how abnormally warm it became. Besides the fact that she was about to have extraordinarily hot sex, besides the fact that she was sweating bullets from the tension… the temperature in the room seemed to have risen dramatically. She knows it wasn’t the heater malfunctioning. It was just fixed last week.

Her eyes gazed up at the man, bewilderment fading… quickly being replaced by fear.

His eyes were white. Filmed over, only the peculiarly dilated black pupil visible.

"Open wide.”

And before she could attempt an escape, his hand flew over her open mouth, blocking the scream that formed in her throat, and he viciously pressed himself into her.

She felt things rip, tear, and she felt something hot ooze down her thigh. Her eyes were wide and overflowing with tears, bulging with panic.

The hot fingers over her cheek suddenly blackened at the tips, and grew into long talons, sharp and black. His mouth even formed fangs, each tooth razor-sharp and sneering.

His voice wasn’t that smooth, cultured tone anymore. It was now guttural, monstrous.

"Now… _scream_.”

His hand jerked from her face, tearing the skin where his claws were. He fisted the sheets, each hand at the sides of her head. His mouth opened. With a swift diving motion, his fangs punctured her just above her collarbone faster than a blink.

She has never screamed as loud as she had that night. She has never felt pain as great as what she was feeling then.

Tears poured, mixing with the blood on her face. The thing chewed and sucked, blood spraying like a pierced water balloon, drenching the sheets and mattress.

She felt weak, hopeless now. She couldn’t push him away. She couldn’t scream. Her breath began to come in little puffs. It was obvious she was dying.

She then remembered she forgot to say goodbye to her best friend back at the club. She was too enthralled with this gentleman to think twice.

She guessed she will just meet her some other time.

Her vision glazed, and there was nothing left to her than a bleeding husk on the bed.

* * *

 

_“Run, John! Run!”_

_John Watson’s comrade screamed for him to run to the barracks. Another comrade of his was several feet behind him, stumbling and tripping over himself from the major laceration in his knee. His stamina was failing him, his legs abating him and turning into rubber. “Move, son!” John yelled as loud as he could over the sounds of guns firing and ear-busting explosions. “Dammit! I can’t do this anymore!” The other man let out a sobbing scream. Before John could say another word to the fellow soldier, blood spewed out of the man’s hip and a bullet hit the ground, a ball of dust emerging from the impact. John’s eyes became wild, “NO!”_

 John woke up from his bed with a jolt. Adrenaline rushed through him causing his heart to beat a million miles a minute, along with sweat rolling off his skin. He slouched over and closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. After pacifying himself, he shook his head, taking himself out of the nightmares that always haunted him since the war. He got out of his bed and headed down stairs for some coffee.

“Coffee. Need coffee. Always need coffee.”

Morning sunshine showed through the sliver of the closed curtain at the window. The fragrant scent of coffee engulfed the kitchen, enriching the air with a promising feel that a relaxing day of nothing to do was ahead. You _always_ need coffee.

He poured himself a cup, and smiled.

Shuffling on the couch almost made the coffee in his hand tip over from his little jump.

"Sherlock.”

Sherlock Holmes was sprawled out on the couch, John’s laptop balancing on his abdomen, his fingers clicking away at the keyboard.

He grumbled, “Yes, John?”

John replied, “Did you stay up all night on my laptop again?”

"Yes.”

"Why?”

"Research.”

John sighed and took a sip of his cuppa. He strode to the window and peeked outside the curtain. A ray of December sunshine showing from above the buildings partially blinded him, forcing him to squint and scrunch his face up a bit. Releasing a billow of air that was lodged in his lungs, he sat himself on the lounge chair, pulling himself into it to relax himself even though he just woke up from a long sleep… which is rare to have at 221b Baker Street. He blew on his coffee, took a sip.

"Disappearances.”

Sherlock’s voice broadcasted out the silent void that blanketed the room. John sat his cup on the end table. He pushed a faux perkiness into his reply, “Disappearances?”

Sherlock’s eyes were glued to the laptop, “Yes, two. All within one week. A little girl, seven years old. A man, about thirty. Both mysteriously swiped off the face of the planet.”

John lifted his brow, curiosity driving him. “Any evidence?”

"For the girl, only a couple drops of blood in Brompton Cemetery. A splotch of blood and hair follicles on a corner of a rock near the lake at Horse Guards Road for the man. Obviously slipped into the lake somehow, but there was nothing in the water. No sort of residue, nothing. The water was clean.”

"Let me guess. Call Lestra-“

"Call Lestrade and inform him. Missing persons with only traces of blood left behind? This case… it’s perfect for a Sunday morning.” His face lifted, slapping John’s laptop shut.

As John lifted himself off the chair to grab his cell, peevish from the sudden rush, the door was thrown open by none other than Gregory Lestrade—or Detective Inspector Lestrade—with an almost frantic expression plastered on his aging face. John thinks Sherlock’s psychic sometimes.

Sherlock, whilst slipping on his shoes, said, “Lestrade, how spontaneous of you.”

"Good morning to you, Sherlock. Any who, no doubt you’ve read the news this morning. Two murders in a week, both disappeared without a trace minus small remnants of blood. Well… there’s been a third.”

"A third?” Both John and Sherlock thought back to the earlier case of the murder-suicides.

"And the murderer left a _big, bloody mess_ ,” Lestrade said, leaving the last three words linger into John and Sherlock’s minds. Lestrade added, “Both of you need to come now. The investigation’s been going on for hours.” Sherlock’s brow arched enquiringly.

Lestrade hurriedly stomped down the stairs. He returned to his car, awaiting them impatiently.

Back in the flat, Sherlock threw on his coat and scarf, calling for John to come with him. John—finally fully clothed—sprinted down the steps from his room, adjusting the collar on his jacket.

Outside, a vehicle was parked. Sherlock opened the door and gestured for John to enter first. After doing so, Sherlock went after him and closed the car’s door. Lestrade pushed the accelerator and drove into the street. The sun continued to slightly distort John’s vision, but shined warmly through the window onto his exposed hands and face, causing his skin to seem almost sallow.


End file.
